


Eating

by dashakay



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:29:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashakay/pseuds/dashakay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She missed the feel of her favorite wooden spoon in her hand as she stirred sauces. She missed the thunk of the knife on the cutting board, the music of chopping onions and garlic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eating

"Sushi," she said. "Spicy tuna roll. Fresh scallop. Salmon and avocado."

"You need to stop this right now," Bill groaned. His breath tickled her bare skin.

"Stop what?" she said, feigning innocence.

"Talking about food." Not twenty minutes ago they'd eaten algae burgers with a side of algae soup. "It doesn't help to remember when food was good."

"But I'm still hungry," she said. She could still taste the dull green of algae in her mouth. His tongue snaked its way down her thigh. "Cream puffs from Angelo's Bakery. You'd bite into one and feel the cream sliding down your chin..." Oh, she could taste it, could feel the wind in her hair as she bit into the pastry on the sidewalk.

Her legs spread open to welcome his fingers, which found her wet and ready. "Oh," she heard herself saying. "Oh. Spicy Gemonese noodles with that hot red sauce." She was swollen under his touch. "Even those awful dehydrated noodles with the flavor packets."

"Lemon ice on a hot day," he said. He squeezed her ass. "Or a cold beer."

"Yes, lemon ice," she said. Her mouth was watering.

"Raw oysters with cocktail sauce," Bill said, his voice rough, deep. She felt his warm tongue slide between her folds.

Oh, how she wished he could sit in her kitchen with a glass of red wine at his elbow while she cooked for him. She pictured bags of produce all over the counter, tendrils of steam curling from a pot of pasta on the stove. She missed the feel of her favorite wooden spoon in her hand as she stirred sauces. She missed the thunk of the knife on the cutting board, the music of chopping onions and garlic.

She imagined Bill swinging her up onto the counter, pushing her skirt up, her own fingers scrabbling to unbutton his trousers, of spreading her legs shamelessly for him and his cock sliding into her, thick and hard. And neither of them caring that dinner was burning on the stove.

Her eyes opened and she was in her rack with Bill, his tongue circling her clit, his fingers pushing their way in and out of her. She was lost, her head tipping back, a low moan escaping from her lips. Better than sashimi, sweeter than chocolate.

"Oh Gods," she sighed. Her hands rose to her face, which felt burning hot.

She heard the bed sheets rustle and felt the rough grain of his stubble against her face. A quick smack on her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw Bill get out of bed and start dressing. "Where are you going? It's the middle of the night."

"I'll be right back."

She rolled onto her side, drawing the sheet up around her body, which was rapidly chilling. She was always cold these days, always shivering. She didn't even have her hair to keep her warm. She missed his body heat.

The hatch opened and slammed shut and Bill was back, looking a bit out of breath, as if he'd run from her quarters to his.

She sat up in bed. "Where did you go?"

"Shut your eyes and open your hand," he ordered.

"Bill..."

"Do it, Laura," he said in his admiral's voice.

She put out her hand and shut her eyes, wondering what he was up to. She opened them to see a small, plastic-wrapped package in her hand. "GEMENON'S FINEST NOODLES, " the wrapper read.

"Oh," she said, blinking at the precious packet.

"My last one," Bill said, his fingers stroking her face. "I was saving it for a special occasion."

She looked up at him, surprised to find tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you."

"So, let's eat," Bill said.

  
END


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